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IRL
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↳ ❝WHAT IF SHE'S BETTER OFF WITHOUT ME?❞

Chris isn't one to cry, not in that stereotypical macho way where shedding a tear is deemed emasculating. No, Chris has his ways of dealing with emotions, and crying doesn't often make the list. At least, it didn't until he watched Lovette drive away, uncertainty hanging in the air like an unspoken question, all because he couldn't find the words to stop her from getting in that damn car.

The first hot tears catch him off guard. They welled up, blurring his vision as he stared at the dwindling taillights of her car. He swiped at them hurriedly, but they left salty streaks on his cheeks. He rubs his palms into his eyes as if trying to erase the evidence. He tries to command himself not to let more tears follow, but it's a futile battle. The tears stream forth, a cascade he can't quite comprehend.

"Fuck!" he bursts out, tugging at his hair in frustration, momentarily forgetting that he's in a public place.

An older woman, out for a leisurely walk on the sidewalk, shoots him a disapproving glance at his liberal use of profanity. Chris, still red-eyed and flustered, offers her an apologetic smile as she continues her walk.

"Sorry," he mutters sheepishly, his voice cracking slightly.

The sheer stupidity of his actions settled in his chest, how he had called Lovette clingy—a bald-faced lie—and her crestfallen face at his words. He hated how he had internalized Layla's words, and now he was questioning whether he was right for Lovette. Mateo seemed to be everything he wasn't, and that's all Chris could think about when he hung out with Lovette now. It's why he had left so quickly after each hangout, why he had shut off his phone for hours, and why he had said things he didn't mean. Because maybe Layla was right—he wasn't the one for Lovette.

"What are you doing outside, Chris?" The sweet voice of his mother caught him off guard, seemingly offering comfort. She was positioned by the porch, having noticed the door being left open.

Chris rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I messed up Mom."

MaryLou urged him inside, making him sit down in the living room. Chris revealed all that had happened in the last week. Meeting Lovette's friends for the first time, the confrontation with Layla, and how he believed that Mateo had feelings for Lovette.

"I'm scared I'm not good enough for her. Or smart enough. She's a genius, and I can't even spell the word 'twenty' right. And all of her friends are smart too. Mateo is studying to be a physical therapist, and he's her figure skating partner, so there's history there. He—"

"Chris, she chose you," MaryLou began, "She's known Mateo for years, and she chose you. You're the one she's dating. I don't think she cares that you're not the best at spelling. She sees you for who you are, and it breaks my heart that Layla girl is making you feel like you're not good enough."

Chris's frustration and insecurities continued to gnaw at him. "But what if I can't give her what she needs, Mom? What if I messed it up so badly that she regrets ever being with me?"

MaryLou sighed, her eyes filled with empathy. "Chris, relationships aren't about being perfect or meeting someone else's expectations. It's about being there, supporting each other, and growing together. You're still learning, and so is Lovette. You both have your flaws, but that's what makes you human. Don't let fear sabotage something beautiful."

Chris buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with pent-up emotion. "I just wish I knew what to do, Mom. I don't want to lose her."

MaryLou sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around her son. "You just need to be honest with Lovette. Tell her how you feel, that you're scared, that you messed up. Open up to her, and maybe she'll do the same. That's how you build trust."

Chris's voice was muffled against his mother's shoulder as he confessed his deepest fear. "What if she's better off without me?"

Tears welled up in MaryLou's eyes as she held her son tight. "Don't let doubt tear you apart. Talk to her. It's the only way to find out what's truly in her heart."

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The last time Chris was this nervous was when he asked Lovette to be his girlfriend. Lovette had agreed to meet at his house the next day, leaving Chris as a bundle of nerves. He can't seem to sit still either, the anticipation of her arrival driving him insane. Ironically enough, he was the only one in the house. There was no one he could spill his guts to and no one to calm his nerves. It was him and his thoughts.

The chime of the doorbell sends his heart racing, and he almost trips over his own feet to answer it. His first thought is about how pretty she looks, but he's unsure where they stand and if he can even say that. He decides to anyway.

"You look very pretty," he stammers out, his words stumbling over each other.

It appears that his words catch her off guard as she mutters a 'thank you,' a faint smile creeping onto her face. He moves to the side to let her in, and as soon as she shuts the door, his apologies spill out in a rush.

"I shouldn't have called you clingy, and I shouldn't have been a dick these last few days. I should've texted you when I got home. I didn't mean it when I called you clingy. I'm really sorry, Lovie. I was just in my head, and I thought that maybe I wasn't good enough for you. And I  thought that you were thinking that too, and I lashed out. And I am really fucking sorry," he babbles, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

His nerves don't let up as Lovette blinks slowly, processing the torrent of information just thrown at her.

Lovette tilts her head, her fingers tracing an absent pattern on her purse strap. "Why would you think you're not good enough for me?" she asked, her voice quivering.

Chris swallows harshly, fiddling with his fingers. He chooses his words carefully, wondering if he should reveal Layla's words. "You're going to MIT, and I'm just a YouTuber. We don't make any sense together."

"Says who?" Lovette questions, her gaze locking onto his, her eyes searching for his insecurities.

Chris feels his shoulders sag, and he glances down at the floor, his voice softer. "Literally anybody, Lovette."

Lovette sighs, her fingers gently slipping into his, their hands interlocking. "Well, I don't care what they think. It doesn't matter that you're a YouTuber and I'm in college. I care about you."

He squeezes her hand, once, soaking in her words. It's as if a weight has lifted from his chest.

"And I do forgive you," she whispers, her voice tender, "But actions speak louder than words."

Chris nods, his eyes lighting up with a spark of determination. "Which is why I got you something," he says before dashing out of the room.

He's gone only for a moment before he walks back in with a bouquet of roses, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. Lovette takes the bouquet gingerly before wrapping her arms around her boyfriend.

"Next time, please talk to me," her voice is muffled, "You can tell me or ask me anything."

Chris feels her warmth, her forgiveness, and her willingness to mend the rift. He gently pulls away, his hand reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear.

But his curiosity nags at him, and he can't help but ask, "Did something happen to you that I don't know about?"

The question catches Lovette off guard, mainly because she didn't think he'd have one ready at his disposal. She detaches herself from him, taking a step back. "What are you talking about?"

While they're only a few feet apart, it feels like miles.

"Do you trust me?" Chris inquires, his voice tense.

Lovette's face scrunches, a deep line forming on her forehead. "Of course I trust you. What type of question is that, Chris?" Lovette asks incredulously, crossing her arms over her chest.

There's a lull, a beat of silence that makes things a bit awkward before Chris continues.

"I don't think your friends believe that," he says plainly, no longer beating around the bush. "And I'm starting to think you don't either."

The accusation feels like a slap across the face, but he continues.

"How come I didn't know you were deathly allergic to peanuts? I feel like I don't know you well enough," Chris riddles off.

"You do know me. Where is this even coming from?" Lovette counters.

"Why were you in L.A. a couple of weeks ago? You never told me," Chris accused, his voice strained.

"You never asked," Lovette spits out, the words harsher than she wanted.

Chris scoffs, "What, so I was supposed to read your mind?"

Lovette wonders how everything quickly went awry. She had the flowers, and he had apologized. In theory, that's how arguments are rectified. They don't sprout from those things.

"That's not the point!" Lovette exclaims, still tightly holding onto the bouquet, "It felt like you didn't care!"

Chris looks at her incredulously, his brow furrowing and hands gesturing wildly. "How am I supposed to care if I don't even know something is wrong?"

The thought of lying crosses her mind, an easy way to get out of the situation. But she can't lie—not to him.

"Why were you in L.A?" Chris demands, his voice straining, "You can't even tell me that?"

He's getting annoyed, she can see it in his face. His brows are knitted together, his lips pressed into a hard line.

The thought of revealing her painful secret clenches her chest. She swallows hard, her fingers gripping the bouquet tighter. The words form on her tongue, but she can't speak them. They feel too heavy, too raw.

"What's the point of us being together if you can't even fucking talk to me?" Chris's voice rises, mirroring his increasing impatience.

A floodgate opened within Lovette. Images of the accident overwhelmed her, the screeching sound of metal against metal and her mother's lifeless eyes haunting her. The room blurred as tears welled up, and the world became a distorted painting of pain and loss. She has to say something, but she can feel tears welling in her eyes. The room seemed to spin as she fought to ground herself, to focus on the present.

"You gave me shit for not telling you about how I feel, and now you're not even speaking."

Her mouth opens, but the words escape her once again. But it's too late; he's landed a verbal deathly blow.

Chris sighs, his frustration evident. "You are being such a hypocrite."

Lovette's vision blurred with tears, and she struggled to breathe, each gasp for air becoming more laboured as her throat tightened. She felt the weight of the room bearing down on her, the details of her surroundings sharpening and becoming overwhelming.

Her breath came in gasps, each inhale feeling like shards of glass in her lungs. "My parents are dead," she confessed, her voice cracking, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the room.

Her breaths came in short gasps, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She kept replaying what had happened over and over again in her head—the car crash, her doing CPR on her mother, her finding her dad dead in the driver's seat. Every detail etched into her memory, eternally fresh.

The room seemed to shrink, the corners pressing in on her, suffocating her. Her vision was clouded with tears as she fought to maintain control.

"My parents always picked me up from figure skating practice and a car hit us. The driver was drunk. My dad died on impact and I watched my mom die. I tried to do CPR, but it didn't work," she continues, her voice trembling. "That's why I was in L.A. It was the anniversary of their death. They died last year."

Time seemed to freeze. The air hung heavy with grief, and Lovette felt like she was drowning in her own tears. Panic clawed at her heart, suffocating her. She dug her nails into her palms, a desperate attempt to ground herself, but her world spun out of control. The scent of roses mixed with her salty tears, a bitter reminder of the fragility of life.

He takes a step closer to her, his anger evaporating as he realizes the gravity of her confession. His face softens, and he reaches out to gently touch her hand.

"Oh, Lovette," he murmurs, his voice filled with sympathy. "I'm sorry that you had to go through something like that. And I'm sorry for being an ass."

"I wish you had told me." He sighs, his shoulders slumping. "But, I just don't get why you didn't tell me. I'm supposed to be your boyfriend."

"You are my boyfriend," Lovette responds, her voice tinged with sadness. She meets his eyes, her vision blurred by tears. "I didn't know how to tell you," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"I feel like I don't even know you. That's what everyone thinks, right?" Chris continues, frustration evident in his tone.

"You do know me," Lovette insists, trying to defend herself.

"Why didn't I know you were allergic to peanuts? Or that your parents passed away? We've been together for months," Chris says, his voice heavy with disappointment.

"Chris—"

"I'm sure your friends are just dying for you to break up with me. I'm no Einstein—or an Ivy League kid," he spits out bitterly, letting his insecurities take control.

Chris's words hung in the room like an accusation, and she was ready to defend herself, but his persistence pushed her to the edge. Chris's frustration and insecurity are like quicksand, slowly swallowing him. He hates how he let Layla's words infiltrate his psyche, and now, like a rabbit caught in a snare, he can't escape. His internal self-flagellation echoes through the room, every word forming a chain that binds them in tension.

"Why would I care if you went to an Ivy League? That would be so pretentious," she responded, confusion and hurt bubbling in her voice. She clutched the bouquet tightly, trying to anchor herself in the present moment.

"Did someone say something to you?" Lovette asks, concerned and eager to understand the source of their conflict.

"Lovette, just drop it," Chris replies, irritation seeping into his voice.

But Lovette refuses to back down. "No, I won't 'just drop it'."

Frustration emanates from Chris as he pleads, "Please, it's nothing. Just leave it alone, okay?"

However, she narrows her eyes, her own fury brewing. "Why are you acting like this, Chris? What's gotten into you?"

But Chris is done tiptoeing around their issues, and the words spill from his lips in a surge of frustration and anger.

"Layla!" he finally shouts, his voice echoing through the room.

The atmosphere shifts and Lovette's eyes widen, shock crossing her face.

Chris inhales deeply, his chest tightening as he searches for the right words. "Layla... she said some things to me," he admits, his voice a whisper, laden with hesitation. The seconds tick by, each one laced with anticipation, as he prepares to reveal the poison that's been infecting his mind.

Lovette raises an eyebrow, her expression turning sharp. "What did she say?"

Chris hesitates for a moment before he spills it out. "She kept insinuating that I'm not good enough for you because I'm a YouTuber. She said I'm not the right fit for you. I think she thinks that I'm only holding you back."

Lovette's eyes narrow, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The room seems to grow colder, charged with the intensity of her anger. "She said what?"

Chris swallows hard, feeling the weight of Lovette's fury. "I didn't want to tell you because she's your friend, and I didn't want to start shit. I thought maybe you thought it too."

Lovette's face contorted with rage.  "I don't need anyone to validate my choices, especially not Layla. And I certainly don't need you doubting me. I'm with you because I want to be, not because of what anyone else says."

Lovette pauses, gazing into his intently. "You know I don't think that, right? You're not holding me back from anything."

"I know, I know," Chris repeats, the words heavy and laboured, like bricks he's been carrying. "But hearing it from her... it just fucked with my head."

Lovette clenches her jaw, her fists trembling. "I don't care what she thinks, Chris. I don't care about any of that. I chose you because I—" the word 'love' almost slips out of her mouth, but she catches herself, "Because I care about you. Our relationship isn't defined by whether you go to college or not. You mean more to me than some arbitrary qualification."

Chris smiles, touched by Lovette's response. "Thank you. I just needed you to know, and I'm glad you feel that way and I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Lovette's anger softens into understanding, and she steps closer to him, taking his hands in hers. "You don't have to apologize, Chris. We're in this together, remember? Through the good and the bad. And as for Layla, I'll handle her."

Chris nods, feeling a newfound strength in Lovette's words. He takes a deep breath, the weight of Layla's words lifting just a bit.

Lovette pulls Chris into a tight hug and his fingers tightened their hold on her, the warmth of her presence enveloping him. He pressed his lips to hers, savouring the softness and familiarity of her lips. This was more than a kiss; it was a rediscovery of what he'd missed. Each kiss deepened, a slow crescendo of longing, and it ended with a succession of kisses.

Their lips parted for a fleeting moment, a comfortable silence filling the room. Chris's voice was a soft murmur, each word heavy with the weight of the revelation to come. "There's something else I need to tell you," he confessed, his voice lingering in the charged air, a question mark in the dimly lit room.

Lovette sighed dreamily, her eyes half-lidded as she pressed her lips against his once more. She tilted her head slightly, inviting him to continue, her fingers delicately finding their way into his hair to brush it away from his eyes.

With bated breath, he finally spoke. "I'm moving to L.A."

It felt like a bombshell, and Lovette couldn't believe her ears. She sighed, a mixture of frustration and resignation tugging at her.

She can't catch a fucking break, can she?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

hi !!

i feel bad cause i went from updating every week to updating every like two weeks but i am super duper sorry.

anyways.. more drama to come

until next time <3!